


La Cœur

by ThePinkMug



Series: FMR: Kagema AU [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Kagema AU, Original Character(s), historical japan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePinkMug/pseuds/ThePinkMug
Summary: Ranmaru, a little boy-prostitute, found a dying French man on the beach. He took him home to the brothel and nursed him back to health, only to find out that the said man remembered nothing, not even his name. He couldn’t speak Japanese, and Ranmaru couldn’t speak French too. Communication was nearly impossible, yet, despite the barrier, close friendship began to develop. It was just as what they say, the heart speaks what the mouth can’t.





	La Cœur

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Enjolras was originally created by my friend Puspitasari, loosely based on Les Miserables' Enjolras. Ranmaru was originally created by Saralaksmi loosely based on the historical persona "Mori Ranmaru / Mori Naritoshi". I love the characters so much so I had to write an AU for them. They were both loosely based on historical/existing characters with the same name.
> 
> 2\. Prostitution saw a stricter regulation in the Meiji Period, but boys prostitution was more in an ambiguous position. They were not recorded in the economic activity, but was technically legal in Tokugawa period—the period preceding the Meiji Restoration. 
> 
> 3\. As far as I knew, skinship/expression of affection between the same sex, especially male, was not yet strictly discouraged at this period.
> 
> 4\. Ranmaru played as onnagata— boys pretending to be girl in the kabuki play, hence his long hair.
> 
> 5\. There were inaccurate historical and medical depiction.
> 
> 6\. The story may contain sensitive issues (child prostitution) and explicit scenes.

 Japan, Early Meiji Period.

_Where am I?_

He heard waves crashing and the birds cawing. He felt his legs freezing and his body numbing. His head hurt too. Was he dying?

A faint sound of footsteps came closer. The steps were rasp— _geta_ softly crunching on the beach sands, each step was light. He wanted to say something, but his mouth refused to cooperate.

The steps soon turned into a hurry. A blurred silhouette came into his sight. The person muttered something he could neither hear nor understand, but having someone nearby felt oddly calming. He closed his eyes. Everything went dark again.

Flashes of imagery ran before his eyes. One second he saw storms and heard people scream. Like vertigo, everything spun. The next second he saw flashes of ochre and heard intelligible murmurs. Then he was back into the sea. It was terribly cold. He shivered, he could hear his teeth rattling as he tried to keep on moving to ward off the cold. He barely hung on his consciousness, desperately swimming and kicking while the sea kept on trying to pull him down to its endless depth. He was hoping for shore, but there was only water. There were only waves crashing on him along with the shadow of the sinking ship on the afar.  There was no shore no matter how hard he swam. Slowly, fatigue took over and he stopped struggling. It was no longer cold. The wave pulled him. he let himself drowned.

***

Ranmaru carefully placed a basin full of clean water on the floor, right next to a sleeping man. He sighed at the weight. Some of his hair had fallen onto his face, so he brushed them all away, and then proceed to take the folded cotton cloth lying on the man’s forehead. Realizing that the man had once again had his breath steady and calm, Ranmaru touched his pale forehead and then his own, trying to guess which one was supposed to be a normal temperature. There was barely any difference. It seemed like the fever had gone, just as the doctor said. 

Ranmaru watched him sleeping. Even though it had been roughly two days since he found this person lying unconscious on the beach, he still marvelled at the fact that this man’s skin looked so pale and so malnourished. His hair, brows and lashes were all pale, too. His nose was so straight and big compared to his own, and his brows were protruding out it actually cast a shadow on his eyes. He had heard about and even seen a few of these western men on the street, but they all avoided his place as if he would infect them with diseases. This was the first time he got to see one from up close.

As he was pondering, the man stirred. His eyes fluttered open. Ranmaru immediately withdrew his hands and himself away from the man. His eyes were so big, it scared him!

The first thing the man realised when he woke up–still in a daze–was whatever kind of bed he was sleeping on, it’s warm and comfortable. The second thing was that he’s alive and remembered nothing. The third, there was a small boy sitting with his legs folded right next to him. Whoever he was, he must have saved him from the claw of death.

The man looked around, eyes squinting at whatever came across his sight. The ceiling of this place was high and made out of cedar wood. It was bare from any decor or picture. Their nook was rather dark, but the light streaming into the room was soft. He tried to sit, yet his arms and back hurt. Someone gently touched him on the back–the boy next to him had promptly lent him a hand. Again, as he looked around, he realised the room was practically bare of  _anything at all_. It made him uneasy, though he could not point out why such modesty would feel this strange to him.

“Where… am I?” he asked.

Ranmaru shook his head and blinked. 

“Did you save my life?”

The boy blinked his almond-shaped eyes and stared at him in apparent confusion. He didn’t even seem to realise he had had his lips parted in part shock, part perplexion. Anything coming out of this man’s mouth, he could not understand at all. They sounded like mere buzz, murmur, and gurgle.

Also, this man had a pair of blue eyes. As blue as the sea off Tokyo’s shore. It scared him.

The foreign man knotted his brows and then sighed. The boy quickly straightened himself again. As a  _kagema_ , he must not appear slacking or rude in front of others. However, this man had just woke up from two full days of sleep, what should he do? Call the doctors? Or the master of the place? Oh, he must be hungry, right?

“Are you in pain? Are you hungry?” The boy blurted out. “Are you okay?”

The foreigner looked at him and blinked. It’s obviously a question, but what kind of question it is, only God above knows. It sounded nowhere close to either his mother-tongue or any other languages he knew. Hell, he couldn’t even catch a single word of it!

They looked at each other for a while. The boy repeated his question, then scratched his head. He seemed to could not process the fact that there may be people out there who cannot speak his language, and the man seemed to be equally exasperated at the fact that he could not communicate in the boy’s language

However, Ran needed an answer! With his brown eyes fixed on the man’s blue eyes, he held out his hand like he was holding an imaginary rice bowl, then flicked his other hand’s fingers towards his own mouth like how a chopstick would move. His brows raised.

The foreign man tilted his head and followed the gesture. He was at first confused but then realised what the boy meant. Eat? Dinner? He unconsciously grabbed his own stomach. It began to growl at the mere mention of food. Right, he’s famished and dizzy.

At the sound, the boy brightened up. He rose and bowed, then quickly ran out–he presumed to get him some food. 

The boy came back shortly after. He could see his silhouette tottering about outside the door, carrying a small table that looked almost to big for him. He placed the table aside and sat down, announcing something before opening the door and carried the table back in. The man was quickly about to rise, but the pain shooting up his back prevented him to, so he simply watched the boy delivered the table to his side, even poured out a cup of tea for him.

He understood now, this boy is not the owner of the house, he's probably just a servant tasked to take care of him. His youthful look and small stature amazed him, though. He thought the boy must be no older than twelve or thirteen years old, but he spoke so politely and had worked so hard since such a young age.

“It's not much but I hope it can fill your stomach well,” Ranmaru said. Again, the man only looked at him with a puzzled look. The boy used the simplest word possible but seemed like it had no use.

The foreigner first took a sip of his tea, then looked at the tray with his brows furrowed. There was no cutlery, only a pair of chopstick, and he had not a single idea on how to use one. He tried asking if they have any fork or spoon, but the boy simply tilted his head. The boy pointed at the food, shook his head and raised his shoulder, presumably to ask if the food is no good, but that's not what he meant!

Sighing, the man picked the chopstick up as if hoping by holding them, he could figure something out. Maybe holding each one by both hands?

Ranmaru watched the man fumbling with the chopstick and blinked. How terrible was this man's home, did not his parents taught him how to use chopstick? Or maybe from where this person came, they don't use one? Yet Ranmaru had never seen anyone fumbling with chopstick except babies. Everyone uses the chopstick to eat!

The boy bowed then took the stick his guest was holding in his left hand. He placed it into the man's right hand and slipped it between his fingers. When the man didn't seem to get it yet, the boy showed him how to properly hold it. However, even after the man could properly hold it, he couldn't seem to pinch anything with it. 

Ranmaru sighed. What kind of a fool is this man? Did he hit his head so hard, he ended up unlearning basic things?

The foreign man sighed too. He placed the chopstick down, trying to figure something out. He could drink the soup right from the bowl like barbarians, but there was this soft white block of something he could not possibly hold by hand. Then there was the grilled fish he would need to pick, and the bowl of rice. Well, the Indians ate rice by hand so he can attempt that too, perhaps.

Ranmaru scooted to his side. He quietly took the rice bowl and the chopstick, pinched some of the rice out and offered it to the guest. The man hesitated at first, but the boy kept on offering the rice to him, moreover with a pout. Slowly, hesitantly, with his eyes still fixed at the black-haired servant, he accepted the food. The rice was sweet.

The boy fed him every single thing on the tray. The  _tofu_ , that’s how he called it, was soft, The fish was slightly salted, and the vegetables were sweet. The boy even taught him to drink the soup straight from the bowl, a gesture he found a bit offensive–one because he had to drink the soup, not  _eating_ them, and two because he felt like a puppy taught to eat. Though part of him knew it was him who knows nothing here.

The boy clasped his hands and muttered something he could not understand. Must be a form of prayer to their Gods.

Ranmaru took the tray table out but left the tea. The sky had started to darken, leaving long streaks of shadow on the floor. The boy-servant had lit up the paper lantern on the corner before he left, and now the light was slowly dancing behind the paper wrap. Its glow was soft. There was a single vase of flower on a nook near the lantern, above it was a scroll painting depicting two lovers.

He was staring at the painting when a familiar footstep came again. Ranmaru was back, this time holding a small folded paper and another small bowl. He kneeled next to the man and offered first the folded paper. Powdered herbs rolled on it as the boy opened it on his palm. They smelled both sweet and spicy but above all, sharp. Clearly a kind of traditional medicine, God knows what it contained and what they would make him. At first, he refused, but it seemed like the servant did not take no for an answer. Instead, he took his hand and placed the folded paper there, pouting, and gestured for him to take it.

 _What a brat._  

Unable to refuse any more, the man poured the stuff into his mouth, scowling at the taste–God, they tasted horrible! He quickly snatched the tea. The tea washed everything from his tongue, but there was this sharp lingering aftertaste on the back of his mouth. His surprise was not even over yet when he was offered a dark-coloured concoction. The taste was no less foul, he had to scrunch his nose to finish it.

“It’s for health.” the boy pointed to the now empty bowl, then him. He drew an imaginary circle in the air in front of his chest as he says ‘health’.

“ _Merci_.” was all he could manage while coughing. The medicine still left a bitter aftertaste behind his tongue.

The boy smiled. Somehow the man was sure the boy, or the lord of this place meant absolutely no harm. Killing him had no more profit than keeping him alive, he’s no official or important person as of now. The only reason they would kill him was that keeping him here would cost something off their pocket. Medicines are not cheap! Plus, he couldn’t pay them and they couldn't rob him. He barely had anything other than his body.

Ranmaru stared at his guest for a full minute. He looked both intrigued and curious. His eyes studied the man’s face like he was looking at some exotic animal. There was a thousand question swarming in his head, but they could not speak each other’s language. He could not ask them all. Where did he come from? He wondered. Why were his eyes blue? How old is he, why are all his hair yellow? Do everyone in his birthplace looked like him?

The foreign man raised his brows and shifted uncomfortably at the stare. He stared at the kid back–he recognized that sparkle in his eyes. It was the same sparkle everyone had when they first brought African stuff and mummies back to the British Museum. It was curiosity, awe, wonder, and here he thought the western was the only one who did that.

He waved his hand in front of the boy’s face, trying to distract him from his own thought, The boy blinked and tilted his head, but then as if he was reminded of something, he straightened his back again.

 “Ranmaru,” He pointed to himself.

“Ran–?”

“Ranmaru,” the boy repeated. Smiled, he said again, “Ran.”

“Ran.” the man replied.

The boy nodded, excited. He pointed at him. The foreigner shook his head, his smile was sad. Ranmaru tilted his head, confused.

“I remember nothing.” He pointed to his head, then crossed his hand, shaking his head.

“You remember nothing?” Ran repeated after him, also pointing to his head and waved his hand. The man presumed it meant something like ‘nothing’, so he nodded.

The boy gasped and repeated his question. When the man nodded again, he crumpled the hem of his kimono and hung his head low. He shook his head too. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. They couldn’t keep him there forever–the lord of the house would not want to, though he wished they could, yet how could one find his way home if one could not even remember his name?

“I will help you find your name!” the boy suddenly grabbed the man’s hand. He pointed to the man, pretended to take something from behind the futon, then placed his hand on his own chest. “But first, we need a name for you.”

The man simply looked at him, puzzled.

“Mr Blue-eyes.” the boy pointed at him.

“Mr. blue--?”

The boy pointed at the man’s eyes. “Eyes,” he said before pointing to the blue pattern of his own kimono, “Blue,” he said, then back to the man, “you. Mr Blue Eyes.”

The man frowned. His eyes, clothes–blue, him? Blue eyes? Alright, he did have blue eyes, so what does it have to do with any of the boy’s rambles?

Yet, before he could say anything else, a call echoed across the hallway. The boy turned, surprised. He quickly gathered the small bowl and paper he brought earlier. As he rose, he once again pointed to himself, the bed, and the next room, to which the man only replied with a smile. The boy bowed ninety-degree deep and rushed out. He saw the silhouette of his kimono flapping as he ran.

Fatigue took over him as the room turned quiet once again. Sure he had just woken up, but there were so many things happening at one time, and they instantly zapped all his energy away. The room and the duvet were warm, too, though the pillow was basically a block of wood. He lied down. It seemed like the earlier medicine had made him drowsy.

He heard faint murmurs and laughs, but they were too far to be a bother. Sleep soon took over him.

 

***

 

Ranmaru brushed his hair and clipped them up. He had just taken a break from nursing his guest. He had been staying up by his bed when the doctor came or when the man was again disturbed by fever. He had been sleeping with his ears ready to pick up the faintest call. He had been feeding him at least twice a day, too. Now Mr Blue Eyes was better so he could take his much-deserved break.  
  
Ranmaru stared at his own reflection in the mirror, wondering how would he look like if he has blue eyes and yellow hair. He knew he had quite an exceptional beauty—his patron had often told him so—and that he liked his black hair, but the blue eyes intrigued him so much. Could Mr Blue Eyes see well with such pale eyes? Would the world look bluer to him?

“Ran. O-Ran” 

The boy turned and quickly tuck the mirror away. A middle-aged woman was standing on the door, the sleeves of her kimono were pulled back and fastened with an apron. She was holding with her a stack of neatly folded clothes. Ranmaru rushed to get her.

“Take your friend with you as you go shopping.” The woman gave the stack of clothes to him along with a money pouch. “There is also a foreigner living at the new building just near the market, towards the port. Maybe he can help your friend.” 

The boy nodded as he inspected the clothes and the pouch. His eyes gleamed at the sights of the coins.

“Buy some meat and dried fish, also radish and any vegetable you can find. You can use the rest for sweets,” the woman stood back up and straighten the crease on her kimono. Ranmaru nodded and said thanks. He rushed to change his own clothes too, then took off to meet Mr Blue Eyes.

The boy found his new friend all awake and was inspecting the wooden beam on the corridor outside his room. He was impossibly tall for the boy, but he knew that much. Most of the futon available in the place barely fit him when he managed to bring him to the place. Lucky someone found an extra-sized futon recently bought for their foreign guests. 

“Mr Blue Eyes!” He called, the man turned and smiled.

“Let's go out,” Ranmaru tugged at the hem of Mr Blue Eyes’s kimono and pointed to the street. He showed off the stack of clothes too. Without even waiting for an answer, he dragged the man back inside and helped (forced) him to change. When the man insisted he could do it himself, the boy ended having a good fit of laugh at his attempt in figuring out the back from the front side of the kimono. The boy earned a frown and a scowl, but he didn’t seem to care. In the end, he put everything on for him. He brought about several hairpins and his brush, too. The man had long blond locks, so the boy attempted to tie it up like how he used to do it. However the foreigner’s hair was way thinner than his, it kept on slipping off his hand. Minutes later, he gave up and simply have them tied behind the back.

The boy looked at his work and nodded in satisfaction. The man sighed and smiled. He hadn't had the heart to rebuke Ran for playing with his hair or forcing him to strip so he can help him change clothes.

The man had spent nearly a week resting and recuperating from his wounds and sickness, so this was the first time he could see the city. By day he often had a few more bouts of fever. Even if he didn’t, his back hurt every single time he tried to stand up, and so in the end, he could only watch the people went about their business from the window. The pain had finally diminished a day ago. He had started walking around the room too. He tried lifting the tray table on which his dinner was served, and was relieved to find most of his muscle didn’t scream pain anymore. 

The street was rather packed as they stepped out the house, and Ranmaru was quick like a cat. On the other hand, Mr Blue Eyes was still overwhelmed by the strangeness of everything in this place. There was a man with an apparent long sword strutting down the street, a cat in his hand. A store with gold gilded signage caught his attention; a woman had just passed by its window. A cart carrying sacks of rice stopped him in his track–and by the time he realized, he had lost Ran among the crowds. Worse still, everyone just looked the same to him.

“Ran?” He called, looking around. Damn, they have gone quite a distance from home, and he had not yet memorised the street. There's no way he could ask anyone the way too—

Someone grabbed his hand. He was ready to shove it away when he looked down and saw Ranmaru pouting at him.

Mr Blue Eyes sighed in relief.

 “Don't let go,” the boy said with a scowl. He wrapped his fingers around his much bigger ones, then dragged him down the road.

They headed downhill, to a more modern looking neighbourhood where wooden and paper roof had been replaced with stone and wooden houses with decorated windows. The shape of the houses was much more familiar to him. They are, no doubt, European style houses.

The boy knocked on the door of one of the places and waited, hand still holding onto the man. A Japanese lady answered the door. Ranmaru told her that he found a foreign man washed ashore and that he remembered nothing, not even his own name. Perhaps the lord of the house could help them?

The lady took a glance at Mr Blue Eyes, then the boy. She coldly told them to wait and closed the door on their face, to Mr Blue Eyes’ nerves.

“We wait here,” the boy told him as he guided his friend a little away from the door. Ranmaru spotted ants lining up on the stone window sill, then some weeds growing on the wall’s crack. The man watched the boy humming some tune to himself as he poked the stone decor.

The door was opened again, this time wider. The same lady appeared. He bowed to the man and told the boy that the lord of the house had agreed to meet his friend. Ranmaru’s face lit up. The lady gestured to Mr Blue Eyes to follow her, but she stopped the boy from coming along.  At the sign, Ranmaru promptly let go, to Mr Blue Eyes’ surprise. He then told the man he’d wait outside until he came back.

“Ran–”

“This way, sir.” the lady spoke in fluent English. The blond man turned to look at her. He couldn’t– he didn’t have the heart to leave the child outside alone. Why he was the one who brought him here. By right, that boy was the proper guest of this place, not him. However, Ran had taken off somewhere else, and the lady servant was waiting for him to follow her.

He clucked his tongue and followed the lady. Ran’s inability to communicate with him had left him clueless–what kind of place is this, who resided here? This place looked strikingly different from the boy’s living quarter. There were actual walls covered with wooden panel, the stairs had wooden balustrade and the windows were covered with European styled laces. Everything about this place screamed wealth.

The lady knocked and opened a dark varnished door at the end of the hallway. Someone answered in Japanese, but when the door creaked open, the one sitting behind the huge, heavy desk was a European man. His moustache was huge, and he wore a khaki suit, complemented with a matching bow tie. Books and papers scattered across his table. When he saw Mr Blue Eyes, he beamed off a grin.

 _"Bonjour_ ,  _monsieur_.” Mr Blue Eyes greeted as he stepped into the room. The room was European. There were cupboards decorated with flowers and swirling carvings standing tall at one end, a grandfather clock at the other. Mr Blue Eyes's Japanese attire felt like a misplace here.

“Ah, French.” The man rose and extended his hand. Mr Blue Eyes shook them, and he was offered to sit on the sofa. The lady servant returned with a cup of tea before leaving again,

“Do you speak English?”

“Fortunately,  _monsieur_.” Mr Blue eyes took his seat and scanned the room. Ah, they must have thought the man could help him with something, “but unfortunately, as you may have heard from my friend, I could not remember anything, not even my name.”

“Well, Kiku-san only told me a fellow Western man needed my help, but she said nothing else. By the way, the name is Anthony.” He sat across Mr Blue Eyes. “From America. I’m here for trading and to advise the government on economic policy."

“I see.” Something clicked in his mind. He was there for something similar, wasn’t he?

“So what happened? Were your ship pirated and robbed or?”

“No, sir. I was simply stranded.” The younger man took a sip of his tea. It’s nice. Somehow, he wanted Ran to try the tea too. “My ship was hit by a storm while in a voyage. It sank and I survived. However, I could not remember where was I supposed to head, nor the name of the ship, or for what purpose I set sail.

“The boy coming here with me, he saved my life.”

“Aha. That’s interesting” Anthony nodded his head. He tapped his chin and looked at him, “by the way, are you aware that he’s a prostitute? A boy-prostitute in the theatre. Kiku told me.” 

“No-sir, no.”

“Well then, I am telling you. He is a  _kagema_ , a boy-prostitute. They usually disguised themselves as  _kabuki_ actors. They can be quite dirty. They are also engaged in a sinful homosexual activity, you see, so you may want to stay a little bit away. We the enlightened westerners should not mix with such people. But, I can offer you–”

A shadow passed the blond man's otherly conducted demeanour. The tea suddenly lost its taste. Anthony hadn’t yet finished his sentences when Mr Blue Eyes returned the tea to its plate. The porcelain clanked and rattled as they crashed into each other.

“My deepest apology, sir. I do not care about your opinion about Ran. Without him, I would have lost my life.” Mr Blue Eyes rose and dusted his  _hakama._ He straightened himself, “Good day to you.”

The man yanked the door open and left without waiting for anyone to show him the way out. To hell with that man! He did condemn prostitution, even more, homosexuality, of course! Yet, sinners or not, the boy saved his life and nursed him back to health without expecting anything. He stayed by his God damned bed. He was innocently holding to his hand on the way here so he won’t get lost. They could not communicate but Ran found a damn way to talk to him. Prostitute, he may be, but Ranmaru was a Godsend, above all. How could a man help himself to not care? How could one–

He found Ran busy playing with his  _geta_ at the mansion’s dry garden. The child halted when he heard the door creaked open and slammed closed. He was confused at the apparent anger but anyway rushed to get the man.

 _That boy engaged in homosexual prostitution–we, the enlightened Westerner should not–_  

To hell with that. As soon as Ran was standing before him, he bent and caught the boy by the side of his head. He kissed Ran on the forehead, then pulled him into a hug. So what if the  _enlightened_ deemed him immoral? He’s just a child, and he had just realised no child entered prostitution by their own lust. Besides, God forgives children. God forgives them.

“Sir?” The younger boy called. His eyes widened in surprise, though he didn’t try to fight back. Instead, he briefly returned the hug before Mr Blue Eyes let go. Ranmaru looked at him with raised brows and tilted head, yet the man simply shook his head and offered his hand.

“Let’s go,” he repeated what Ran told him when they stepped out of the house. Ran perked up at the words he could actually understand. He took the foreign man’s hand, then happily drag him to the market.

They spent a few hours in the market, with the boy pointing at everything and tell him the name in Japanese. He patiently listened to each and every one of them– “fish,” as he pointed to a silver-scaled fish. “Meat,” as he pointed to another. They even got a wooden spoon on the way–it seemed like the boy broke his own piggy bank to afford them.

“Ran,” he pointed to one of the flowers in the flower stall. Mr Blue Eyes frowned and inclined closer, just in case he heard wrongly. The boy laughed and repeated. He pointed at himself, then at the flower. “Ran.”

Ah, Ran means ‘orchid’. The man repeated after the boy.

The boy bought some sweets and sesame buns to share. On their way home, Ran took a different turn down the hill, past a few blocks of houses until they reached a low hill facing the sea. A red  _torii_ gate can be seen off the coast, just nearby two standing rocks marked by white ropes. The boy kept his basket close to him as he climbed down, his Western friend followed behind.

“Here,” the boy led him to a spot on the beach, right at the border where the rolling wave had left the sand discoloured.

The man looked at the spot, then the sea. So this was where he was found, unconscious and almost dead, with nothing but water in his lungs. He could still feel the fear in his feet. He could still see the raging storm.

The boy looked at him for a second. He gave the shopping basket to the man, then ran off to fetch a wooden stick jutting out of the sand. Mr Blue Eyes watched him squatting and scratching on the sand. The boy drew a boat, then looked at him with questioning eyes.

Somehow he understood. Or maybe he bet on a blind guess when he placed the basket on the sand and took the stick from the boy. He drew something else next to Ranmaru’s drawing–spiky but squiggly lines symboling the sea, then on top of it, a triangle round on one side, symbolizing a sinking ship hull. The boy looked at the drawing, then at him. He went back to the drawing, and with his small finger, he drew a line extending from the sinking ship to the sea. At the end of the line, he drew something that would look like a human if one sees hard enough. 

He pointed to the drawing, then to him with a tilted head. The man nodded and smiled, albeit a little sad.

Ran stared at the drawing for a full minute in complete silence. After what felt to be hours, the boy slowly scooted closer and gave the man a hug. Mr Blue Eyes said nothing. He simply returned the hug and patted his head.

The cold sea wind blew and played with their hair.

They stayed for a full minute before Ranmaru finally let go. He wiped his face with his kimono sleeves, then showed off a grin. The man smiled.

They ended up walking home with Mr Blue Eyes carrying Ranmaru on his back. The boy had sprained his ankle and broke his  _geta_ as he tried to stand up too fast. Lucky for them that he was not that heavy, otherwise they would have to find another way to take him back home. The boy even fell asleep a few minutes away from home, leaving the foreign man to navigate the street on his own.

 

***

 

It was one fine evening after a Kabuki play. The boy had invited him to see the Kabuki play and then brought him to meet a group of other Westerner he realised often frequented the place. They bonded pretty quickly and soon regularly meet to discuss the theatre and the culture of Japan. They even gifted him a set of Western cutlery, books, pens, and ink.

Today, too, as usual, the guests would end up at the tea house right next to the theatre after the play. So were Mr Blue Eyes and his other Western friends. Their laugh was raw. Cigarette smoke danced in the air as men took a drag of their pipes. Sweets and tea were served along with slices of fruits.

“I think I know– I mean, I know there was a ship that sank off Japan coast after a storm around those time. It set sail from France.” one of the suddenly said after Mr Blue Eyes explained what happened and how did he meet the boy.

Mr Blue Eyes raised his head. His hand hung in the air. As the surprise wore off, frown and doubt took over. He asked back, “You sure?”

“Yeah, I mean, I heard about it, but let me send a letter. I will let you know.”

It was customary in the place for the kabuki actors, men and boys especially, to entertain guests after their stage. Ran too, was there. He came along to nag at Mr Blue Eyes, slumping on his back while stealing fruits off his plate. He didn't even care that the foreign man was talking to someone else. Anyway, he didn't cut them off, and Mr Blue Eyes seemed to had been perfectly accustomed to his antics. 

Ranmaru was cheeky, that’s what Mr Blue Eyes thought after knowing him for a few months. The boy would sometimes cheat on their backyard games, or steal fruit off his plate. He also played a kind of traditional instrument and act in a kabuki theatre. Now that Mr Blue Eyes was in good health, Ran would sometimes vanish since early in the morning and returned at night. Sometimes the boy would sneak into his room with his futon to sleep there. Some other times to pull a prank on him. Sometimes, the boy said nothing at all as he spread his bed and went to sleep, even if Mr Blue Eyes asked if there was something wrong.

The boy stopped swinging on his back when an older actor scolded him, yet still insisted on sitting next to the foreign man. It seemed  like he was hiding from the other guests except from this foreign friend. His excuse was that he simply entertained  _some other_ guests instead of the older Japanese men drinking nearby. Mr Blue Eyes took no heed to it; he simply let the boy be. Only until someone else called that Ran sighed and left Mr Blue Eyes’ side. 

The man turned to check on the boy after a while. He did realize that even though Ranmaru was basically acting like a spoiled brat on a daily basis, he rarely tried to hide behind him. He scanned each table and each corner. The boy was not in the room. Maybe he left to take something else? And that’s when he saw him leaving the room following another man.

Mr Blue Eyes kept on glancing at the door from where the small boy had taken his leave. He had never really paid attention to what the boy was doing before. He always thought the boy left to fetch more food for the patrons. Now he realised that it may not be the case. Why would he leave together with another patron to the back, if it was just to supply their guest with tea?

He  _did_ know Ran was a prostitute, it’s just that he hoped it wasn’t true.

“Excuse me for a second,” the man rose from his seat and left for the back.

Away from the clatter and laughter of the tea house main hall, he heard some other noises. He heard moans, writhing,  _cries_. It sickened him to the stomach– what a debauched place this is!

He went further back and sure enough, Ran’s voice was mixed in between them. It came from one of the rooms at the farthest back. He could see blurred shadow slowly swaying from behind the paper door. He could hear a grunt, then whimpers. He knew that voice.

Half curious, half mad, he stomped closer and quietly parted the door, just enough for him to take a peek. The room was not that bright, but he could clearly see what happened inside. Ranmaru was lying on a futon, his feet was dangling in the air. His clothes were undone, he was naked. Another man, seemingly in his fifties and was twice bigger than the boy, was straddling him. His naked ass pounding on the little boy's crotch. Ranmaru writhed and shook. Their eyes met, and God knows the kind of face Ran saw, for he quickly turned away and tried to muffle his own voice.

The man froze for a second. His chest hurt. His breath paced. Rage rose inside his ribs and disgust stirred in his stomach. He turned away and left as quickly as he could. He didn’t care if anybody heard his steps. When he reached the street, he barfed on the sewer.

He closed his eyes. The image was still loud and clear in his head— the boy whimpering but didn't fight back, the man pounding on his rear. For God’s sake, for Christ’s sake, Ranmaru was still a tender boy blind to the wretch of the world. He was just a tiny boy too small for any grown men penises. Why–who tricked him to fall into such debauchery?

That night, Mr Blue Eyes did not return to his room. Rather, he spent the night watching the sea and prayed in a convent on the other side of the town.

He returned after he tired himself out, right before the dawn. His steps were as heavy as his eyes. He cleaned himself by the well, the cold water splash calmed him down for a bit. There was still rage in his chest, but then there was something else. There was despair, helplessness, sadness. There was this realization that he could do absolutely nothing about it.

He went up to his room only to find that his bed was all spread and ready, and that Ran was sleeping next to it, inside his own. The sight pained him. He felt guilty. The boy must have been searching for him, then slept here hoping he would return soon. Yet, he couldn't face him. Not now, he still needed to sort his mind.

The blond man gently pulled the blanket to cover Ran up to his neck, then changed his outer clothes as quietly as possible. He left again to spend the day at his friend's place.

Ranmaru woke up to find the bed next to him still empty and cold. So he was wrong. He thought maybe if he spent the night next to the man, nothing bad would happen and they would play as usual again. However, even until the sky completely darkened, even after he slept it off, the bed next to  him was still empty. Mr Blue Eyes still did not come back.

The boy gulped down a lump in his throat and hid in his blanket, trying not to cry.

He cleaned up the place and went to perform in the afternoon. Mr Blue Eyes was not there. He went to the tea house to entertain guests. Some of them courted then took him away for a few minutes. Each time, he returned to the main hall hoping his foreign friend was somehow there, but there was no sight of him.

Ranmaru hated this. He wanted to apologize to the man—he knew that he was wrong, yet it's his job, he had to do it. He knew they hated it, but what could be done? Why would one hated another for the things they do for a living?

A western man courted him. As he lied down and bare himself to his client, he couldn't stop thinking about Mr Blue Eyes. That man had become so much more to him. Ran clung to him like a little boy to his elder brother. He cared about him like one would a family. They have never been parted really far ever since he saved his life.

He closed his eyes and arched his back. The Western man had climaxed and dumped his semen on him.

The Western man spoke to him in Japanese, but Ranmaru did not reply. Instead, he scooted to the only storage cabinet in the room. There was some paper, half dried ink, and messed up brush there. He took them out and then begged his client to teach him how to apologize in letters, in their language. Just one word, he said, one word is enough. The man agreed, but only if he's allowed to fuck him again for the second time. Ran spread his legs and let the man did it; back against the cabinet and feet dangling in the air. Hundreds of moans and whimper dripped off his lips, yet his eyes were fixed only to the letter.

When the man finally finished, the boy asked again, reminding him of the promise. The Western man shrugged his shoulder and gave him a sample or the writing, dressed up, then left. The boy immediately set to work without even bothered to clean up or get dressed. He faithfully, carefully copied each letter written by his client. His hand shook with both excitement and awkwardness. He had never learned how to read or write. This was his first letter he'd ever tried.

Mr Blue Eyes did not return again that night. The boy tried to look for him by the seaside and the river, but he was not there. Had he gone far away to places he couldn't reach? The boy returned home with slow steps. His head hung low. Again, he spread and prepared both his bed and the foreign man's bed in the latter's room—who knows he’d be back by dawn. Ranmaru placed the letter on the man's futon. His chest brimmed with a child-like hope; a hope that Mr Blue Eyes would return and saw the letter, and forgive him for what he was.

Mr Blue Eyes did return before dawn. He had not slept for a blink, dark circles were forming beneath his blue eyes, but at least now he had his head cleared up. It couldn't be helped. He was at the wrong for peeping. He shouldn't have done it. He should apologize. 

Ah, Ran slept in his room again, didn't he? The man quietly closed the door and tucked the boy in. He saw the letter. Confused, he opened it while sitting on his own bed.

_Sorry._

The letters were not well written, that's for sure. Some of the alphabets were dented and it seemed like the boy had attempted a cursive—did he copied it from someone else? The man sighed. His chest warmed up but it throbbed painfully. What had he done? His heart wept in remorse, though he did not shed a single tear.

Ranmaru stirred awake. He dreamed about the sea and some boats. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the futon. Nobody was sleeping there. No signs of blond hair and a straight nose. He was ready to be dejected again, but then he realised someone was sitting on it—he wasn't alone.

The boy yanked himself up. Mr Blue Eyes had returned! He was holding his letter too! The man turned at the noise, he looked tired but he managed to crack a smile. He said good morning in the boy's language. The accent weird, the pronunciation barely correct—who cares! Ran crashed and climbed into his lap; the man wrapped his arms around the boy. He patted the small head. The boy was shaking. His entire body felt too small and too fragile in his arms.

“I had a dream, I saw you leaving to the sea on a big boat,” the boy said. He hid his face on the man's shoulder, his hand clutching on his clothes, “I'm scared.”

The man caught a few words he thought he understood but still couldn't make up the whole sentences. He rubbed the boy's back, one hand still holding on the letter. He kissed the boy's hair.

“I am sorry, Ran,” he muttered. He had asked his friend to teach him how to say sorry in the boy's language to make sure the boy heard him. He was determined to say it out loud, yet, now all that he could manage was a low whisper.

Ran shook his head and apologized again. They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither really want to let go. The man wanted to interrogate him, was he hurt somewhere, was he alright? Yet he knew better. The boy must have somehow gotten used to it, that such a trivial question would sound silly.

The boy finally let go but refused to get down from the man's lap. He looked at his letter the man was holding. He was more than glad it worked.

“Ran, they found my name,” the man suddenly said. The boy looked up at his name getting called, head tilted in question.

“Name,” Mr Blue Eyes pointed to himself as he spelt out the Japanese word.

“Your name?” Ranmaru tilted his head, pointing at the man.

“Enjolras,” Mr Blue Eyes placed his hand across his chest.

Ran paused. Everything clicked now. They found his name! His name was no less strange than their language. How… how does one speak like that?

“Anzu?” The boy repeated.

Enjolras laughed. He knew the boy won't be able to say his name so he simply nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Anzu.”

 

***

 

The news that there was another survivor in the horrifying sinking of the Notre Dame ship off coast Japan reached France. Stories circulated, they say it was a romantic story of a Japanese boy rescuing the European man, other said it was a woman and they were set to marry in a historical interracial marriage in the far east. Letters arrived in Japan, addressed to the gentleman’s friend who insisted on not giving any public account except to Enjolras’ family in Paris.

Ranmaru sat with his feet swinging against the house’s backyard grass. It was summer now. Mr Blue Eyes–now Anzu–was next to him, reading a letter addressed to him from France.

He frowned. The letter described his identity and his supposed to be home. They say he was Jean Antoine Enjolras, a distinguished scholar in law. He had heard about Japan and had intended to visit a senior working as the new government advisor there, all while having a short leisure. His ship sank after it collided with a terrible storm.

Slowly images of a distant land came back to him. They all still felt very distant and strange but was somehow familiar. A distinguished scholar, they say? He must have been living well, then.

“Enjolras,” someone called.

The man raised his head. A Western man came in, lead by a Japanese boy no older than Ran. The man sat next to Enjolras, and the boy asked Ran if he wanted to play skip instead of just sitting down there. They were soon off rolling on the backyard grass.

“What is it?” The blond man folded his letter and slipped it into his kimono sleeves. He’s so used to the Japanese customary now, that he began to utilize the sleeves and the obi as stashes.

“There will be a ship leaving for France at the end of this week, I had put your name there, in case you want to go back.”

Enjolras sighed. Leaving for France sounded like a good idea–he might be able to regain his memory back there. If he was a scholar, then he would naturally live well, supported by universities and the government, living a dignified life. It’s just that he feared he would forget this place. He feared to leave and to forget Ran. What would be of the boy if he was gone? How would the boy become?

“I don’t know, I’m just….”

“The boy?”

Enjolras shrugged his shoulder.

“You two stick to each other as lovers do.” the friend laughed. “You’re getting sentimental over a boy you can’t even converse normally with.”

“I know, but I owe him my life, you see.”

“Right, right. We all heard about it”

Enjolras watched the boy skipping and rolling across the yard. He knew he couldn’t live in this place forever. The lord of the place had been looking at him with squinted eyes. His friend had borrowed him quite a sum to cover for the medicine and all, saying that the man could return the money to him later anyway. He gave the money to the guest house owner, and only then the old owner shut up and let him be.

“Why don’t you take him to Paris? You have enough money for both of you to live well. He can go to school and learn how to read too. Think about it.”

Would he? Ran can stay in his place if he wanted, sure. He wouldn’t have to prostitute himself anymore if he followed him to France. He could go to school, he wouldn’t have to live in this poverty. He just had to persuade the boy, right?

“I’ll try thinking about it.”

He gave it a thought for three days. He could talk to Ran almost anytime, the boy had practically moved to sleep in his room. It’s just that he didn’t have the heart to tell him that he might leave very soon, for a long time. He couldn’t promise that he would and could go back. He couldn’t tell him while the boy pulled another prank on him, or when he’s swinging on his back, nor in the morning while he’s still in a daze.

Three days left.

Enjolras sat next to Ran one evening before they went to sleep. The boy had just finished taking off all his makeups, hairpin and ornaments, and was brushing his hair when the man took his place beside him. The boy turned and straightened himself, looking at him in a questioning look, as usual.

“Ran, I am going home.” He still found himself gesturing, pointing first at him, then to the south. God, he had no heart to say it out loud, moreover in the boy’s own language, albeit with the shortcomings of speaking a foreign language.

Ranmaru paused. He then slowly placed his hairbrush down, casting his eyes down onto his own feet. He played with his thumb. After a minute, he raised his head again, looking at the man in the eyes.

“Is it far?” He stretched his own hand, trying to gesture ‘far’.

Enjolras nodded.

“Will you come back?” he waved his hand and pointing to the ground.

“I don’t know.”

The boy hung his head low again. His lustrous black hair fell forward, hiding his face. Enjolras could see him fiddling with his own thumb.

“Let’s go, Ran.”

The boy turned to look at him, puzzled.

“You, I. We. Let’s go home.” The man looked at the boy in the eyes.

Ran looked at him and shook his head hard, How could he go there? He had things to do in Japan. He could never imagine himself running away from his contract. He couldn’t–

“Ran, listen,” Enjolras grabbed the kid’s shoulder, “Let’s go. I will take care of you well.” he tapped on the boy’s hand. That was how Ran said ‘care’. “I will give you books. School.” He gestured to the boy’s crotch, “that, no more. I promise, so please….”

Ran shook his head and scooted back. “Ran cannot speak.” the boy pointed to his mouth and waved his hand. “Ran cannot hear or read.” He took the man’s hand away from his shoulder and squeezed his fingers. “My family is here. I must work, if I don’t, they die. 

Tears started streaming down his little face. Enjolras softly called the boy’s name but he just shook his head. The man tried to touch him but Ran jerked and leapt back to his feet. 

“Good-bye,” he said. “I am happy you were here.”

The man didn’t even get to say anything else when the boy ran out, slamming the door as he fled. He tried to run after him, but by the time he reached the hallway, the boy had vanished. He could hear his faint drumming footsteps echoing across the hall, but they soon ceased too.

 _Brat_.

Enjolras returned to his room, shaking his own head. Where did he go wrong, really? He offered him everything everyone dreamed off, good life, schools, modern life in a modern country, away from slavery and prostitution. Why wouldn’t he want that? Why–

Maybe the boy needed time to think about it. Maybe if he gave him time, he would show up and follow him to France, maybe.

Oh, how wrong he could be? Enjolras had never seen or heard from Ranmaru again ever since. The boy didn’t show up in his room for his last three days. He did not say good-bye when he left the house for the last time, not even when he called for him. He didn’t show up in the port. He didn't show up in either in the ship or among the crowd. The man kept on looking for him among the crowd, even as he climbed the bridge, hoping that the boy would somehow appear and give him one last hug, at the very least.

The ship tolled its bell and began sailing. He watched the crowd grew smaller from the ship’s dock. A child ran through the pier, waving his hand. He stood and leaned out to see, God–if it’s Ranmaru, he would have jumped and swum back to get him. He would apologize over and over again and perhaps promised to stay in Japan.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t Ran. Ran had never ever sent him off.

 

***

 

To tell the truth, Ranmaru could never get over Mr Blue Eyes’ departure, He knew the man wasn’t dead, and that perhaps by going home, he could have met his family and friends. He could talk freely too. Ran knew he must not be selfish. He knew he should have sent the man off instead of hiding and crying in the back room, but the thoughts of not being able to see him ever again were just overwhelming. It felt like the man had died and he was left all alone.

At the first week, the boy barely ate or wash. He had never moved back to his room. He slept in the man’s former bedding. Sometimes he forgot that Enjolras was no longer there. Sometimes he still ran to the room calling ‘Anzu-san!’ to find it nothing more than empty.

A year after the man’s departure, a letter and a gift came. It was addressed to ‘Ranmaru’ written in both Latin alphabet and Japanese kanji. The box contained a few yards of silk and cotton fabric enough for one  _yukata._  The letter was written entirely in French. The boy couldn’t tell, of course. He didn’t even know how Anzu would write his name, and if he wrote his name at all. Yet, among all the people who would write him a letter, nobody writes like this. Nobody but Anzu would send him such an expensive gift. The envelope and the postal stamp were strange too.

The very same evening, Ranmaru brought the letter to the group of Westerner he remembered hanging out with Anzu. He asked them to read it for him. One of them, who spoke the most fluent Japanese, volunteered to do it out of pity for the boy. Ran sat next to him and listened keenly. It seemed like Anzu- _san_ asked if he was alright and if the gift was to his liking. He said he had remembered everything, and that he’s living well. Ranmaru was glad his friend was safe and well in this country called France.

The same scholar offered to write a reply letter to him if he wanted too. The boy gave it a thought, but he eventually refused.

“If I am to write a letter, I would want to do it with my own hand,” he said. “But please, if you ever write him a letter, please tell him that Ranmaru had received his letter and that he was still glad he saved Anzu on the beach that day.”

 

***

 

4 years later.

The tea house was rather quiet. For a few hours, there were only three men sitting at the corner, nodding as they were discussing the current political turmoil and the outcome of the passing Russo-Japanese war. Their argument was heating up when the door to the tea house slid open. They flicked their eyes to the door, then return to their debate as they found the new guest of someone they did not know.

A Western man with long blond locks came in. He had a pair of blue eyes, but he wore a sombre coloured kimono. He glanced at the menu and tilted his head when he found ‘Anzu bun’ and ‘Anzu tea’ listed among them.

“Excuse me,” he called the waiting lady, “I am wondering if Ranmaru is still working here?”

“He is.” the lady rushed to take his order, “would you like him to entertain you?”  
  
“Yes, please. And… tell him to get me the Anzu tea, and whatever sweets he would recommend to me.”

The lady promptly left to carry the order. The man was now free to contemplate on his own. It’s been about four years, and the tea house hadn’t changed much. The city, though, had transformed. There were more European buildings in the city than it used to be. There were more Europeans too.

The door leading to the hall slid open with a rasp drag. A young lad, clothed in a bright kimono, whose hair was adorned with silver hairpins, kneeled behind the door. A tray heavy with tea and sweets sat next to him. He bowed but did not raise his head to look at the guest.

“Good afternoon, Ran.” the guest called.

Ranmaru yanked his head up. The voice was nostalgic, so very nostalgic—but he remembered he used to not understand anything  _that_ voice said. This time he could understand everything despite the accent. He stared at the guest, his hand halted midway picking up the tea. 

“It’s Mr Blue Eyes.” the guest spread his arms. “I am home.”

Ranmaru pursed and bit his lips. He dropped the tea back onto the tray. He pulled his  _kimono_ away and ran to the guest, crashing into him so hard the man fell down back first.

“Anzu- _san_ , Anzu- _san_.” the boy called. He hugged the blond man so tight it’s hard for him to breathe. Ran had grown much bigger than the last time they met, but it seemed like only the blond man noticed the change. The boy acted like he was still the 13-years old child clinging to him for attention, “Anzu-  _san_ is speaking Japanese.”

Anzu chuckled and patted the boy’s back. “Yeah, I do. I learned.”

“Anzu- _san_ ,  _okaerinasai_.”

 

- _end-_


End file.
